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Summary: Mason comes back to the mansion a little tipsy to find that Shane is throwing away her precious costumes.
Date: Wednesday, April 14, 2011. 1:13am.
Log Title: Throwing Away A Part Of Me
Rating: PG
Xavier Mansion - Quad
There is a square side walk of pavement with a nice grassy area in the middle with a few stone benches and trees along the corners. The pavement leads to the paths to the grounds of the school, the Dining Hall in Xavier's and the Ramsey Dormitories. It's not particularly large but it's a nice place for students and teachers to relax and enjoy the outdoors.
Past midnight, and the door to the Dorms swings open, followed by a pink-haired Shane hauling a lumpy sack through the door. For herself, she's simply dressed in a pair of beaten jeans and a Supergirl hoodie. Dark rings are under her eyes, as she tugs the bag down the steps and onto the cement of the Quad, pausing to look back and forth in irritation.
Mason has been…somewhere out late. He's just now come back on campus. Surely he'll hear about it in the morning, but for now he's pretty happy with himself. He's not drunk, but he's got the loose appearance of someone who's had a drink or two. He is sauntering down the walk with his hands in the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts, and a white dress shirt on top, untucked, but with a tie still around his neck loosely. When he spots Shane hauling the sack out the door, he pauses, drifting to a stop on the other end of the quad. "Hey Shane," he says. "Um…it's kinda late in the evening for spring cleaning, dontcha think?" The pop start casually restarts his pace toward her, still in no large hurry.
At first the instant cringe upon hearing Mason's voice seems entirely unlike Shane, but as he approaches, the reason becomes clear in a hurry; no headphones. "Mason," she says, voice quiet and resigned. "Kinda late in the evening for a night on the town, don't'cha think?"
"That's why they call it nights on the town," Mason answers. "But cops got called, so I thought it'd be a good idea to cut it short before I made it on the news." He shrugs, ambling from one edge of the sidewalk to the other. Not in a stupor, but as if the edges of the path were somehow entertaining him like they might a small child. "You look like you haven't been sleeping well, you okay?" He notices the lack of headphones, but doesn't comment on them for the time being.
"No." The answer, instant, emphatic, and carrying an undercurrent of 'don't ask.' "Must be nice not to give a shit, huh?"
The blond pauses, as if he's trying to assess the implication behind her statement. "Huh?" he asks. Apparently he's loose enough that he isn't picking up on subtle hints.
Shane waves her free hand to encompass Mason's shirt, tie, and general activities of the past few hours. "Drinking, cops called, coming back half-buzzed? And you just don't care? It's amazing. How the hell d'you manage it?"
"Alcohol is good for that," Mason answers with a grin. "See, you just need to have a little to take the edge off. Helps keep my cool." His smile has a slightly lopsided manner, and he closes the gap between them. "Come on, I'll help you with…" he reaches a hand out to take the sack from her, "…whatever this is. What's in here, anyway?"
The sack is snatched away, but not before its contents rustle and creak, suspiciously similar to taffeta and suede from her costumes. "None of your business," Shane all but snarls. "What do you want, huh? I can't even throw some stuff away without someone bugging me…"
"See, just get a little jack, and you'd be much easier to get along with," Mason comments, hoisting the sack onto his shoulder. He takes a few steps in the direction Shane was heading before it starts to register that there is clothing in the bag. "This doesn't feel like trash," he observes. "Feels kinda like clothes."
"What do you want, Mason," Shane says, voice tired and resigned. "Just… put it down and go to bed, okay…?"
"I just want to help you out," Mason responds, confused about her exasperation. "You act like I'm getting all up in your business, it's a big heavy bag, and I'm trying to be nice." On the word 'nice', he spins back to face her, but the momentum of the bag pulls it free from his grip, and it flops open reveal the costumes as one topples out. He glances down at it, knitting his brow, and then his head sloppily bobbles back to Shane with a rather quizzical look. Maybe it's the booze, but he's pretty sure he's looking at her costume. Somehow, he looks like he's about to be in her business.
"And now you're going to get all up in my business," Shane says, sitting down on the concrete and hugging her knees. "Just… say whatever you want to say, okay?"
Mason watches as Shane takes her huddled position on the ground, and looks back at the bag again. He's a little lost for words. Suddenly his buzz doesn't seem like such an advantage in life. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn't even know where to start. Once again, he returns his gaze to Shane, an almost visible question mark over his head, almost unable to comprehend that she is really throwing away her costumes.
"It's just… too much," Shane murmurs, letting her forehead rest on her knees. "I can't sleep, I can't think straight… I can't *stop* thinking about things… and… now I blow up. So great. I never know when I'm going to ruin another one. So like… why even bother wearing anything I could give a shit about. Then it's like… why even bother *making* things I can't wear."
The pop star steps back to the explosive girl, and sits down cross-legged in front of her. "Shane, you love these costumes. You love making them. Maybe one day you will be able to control your power well enough that you won't need to worry about it." Tentatively, he reaches out to put his right hand on her opposite arm, hugging her knees. "I get scared too," he says. "If anyone found out I was a mutant, my career would be down the toilet faster than you can say Alison Blaire." He doesn't exactly smile, but he quirks his mouth to one side. "But our mutant powers will get easier for us to live with as we get used to them."
Shane's head snaps up, dark eyes glimmering with tears. "…Your career? Mason, I blow up. You can get another job, hell, you could probably hire a new music career.*8 You **don't end up naked just because you didn't want to get kidnapped, okay?!"
Mason bites his lip as Shane dismisses his own fears, a little put out by the statement. However, when the girl mentions kidnapping, it causes a full shift in attention. "Kidnapped? Who tried to kidnap you?" Mason looks rather concerned. "Shane, did you tell Mr. Summers or Ms. Frost?"
"Ms. Frost gave me a ride home, okay? It was that big drug gang fight thing in Mutant Town." She lets out a low, croaking half-laugh. "I can't even go *shopping* right…" Shaking her head, she drops her forehead back onto her knees. "Look, just… lemme throw it away, okay? I can't… I can't deal with it anymore. Nothing goes right. Nothing stays good. …Not even things *I* do that make me happy…"
"You don't want to throw them away," Mason says. "You want to keep them, you're just afraid. It's okay to be afraid. I'm afraid all the time! But just cuz you're afraid doesn't mean you can stop living. When life gives you a lemon, you just gotta squirt that lemon back in its eye and say, "Hey, I ordered a beer!" He doesn't know how receptive Shane will be, but that doesn't stop Mason from leaning forward to attempt to wrap her in a hug. "Don't give up everything you love just because it's hard. Anything worth loving is worth fighting for."
"Mason," Shane groans. "You don't *get* it. I'm not throwing shit away because I'm *afraid.*" Squirming inside the embrace, she tries to pull away. "I'm throwing them away because now that there's nothing anyone *else* can break, now *I* break what matters… And I'm *tired* of it."
Mason allows Shane to retreat, and retracts his hug. "Shane, it won't always be like this. You'll learn to control your powers, you won't always destroy your clothes. Maybe you can get that unstable molecule stuff and makes clothes from that! I was thinking of getting some shoes made of that stuff. You could come with me and we could find out how much the material costs! You could make all sorts of costumes that won't shred. Just…I want to see you win. I'm not going to leave you again. I'll stay with you until you do win. I promise."
"Don't… just… don't. Don't promise. Don't ever promise me." She shakes her head, and doesn't stop until long past the time when her words fade. "Nobody promises me anything that doesn't get broken…. Just… please… stop it, okay…?" Her voice is quivering, her body noticeably tenser… Almost as if the mere thought of a promise is now a real thing, that can hurt her.
"No," Mason answers, a little more firm. "You stop it. You can't just go through your whole life waiting for the next chance to get hurt. If you do, then you'll miss it when something good happens. Like this school! You thought you were stuck all alone. How many mutants get to come here? Not very many. But you got to come. I am going to stand with you, Shania Morgenstern. I'm not going to give up, put up, or shut up until you see your life beautiful before you."
"This school? This school is good?" Raising her head, Shane struggles to her feet, fists clenched and shaking, eyes dark behind the rings. "I'm only *here* because I can't go anywhere else! I'm a hand grenade, Mason, who the hell wants to live with one?! …Don't start, either. You weren't there for Christmas." Hugging herself, she turns away, swallowing past the lump. "…They'd changed all the furniture. I could still see the marks where the couch went. All the dishes, too…. None of the nice stuff they put out for dinner. Mom's hutch was in the garage."
"Shane…" Mason's mother is a mutant. He really hasn't had to fear rejection at his home. She's been through it and has mostly shielded him from the dangers mutants face. "I'm sorry Christmas was bad. I don't know what that's like. You don't know what my life is like. We don't know what Mr. Summers' life or Mr. Falk or any of their lives were like. But everybody here has had difficulties. There's that African guy who was forced to kill people, and Heather who can't carry on a normal conversation because she's so screwed up. Sophie and Tara are both blind, they can't see anything!"
Mason slumps his shoulders. "I'm not trying to say what you went through is less important, or difficult, but… what're you gonna do? Just sit on your hands and do nothing for your whole life? Things won't be different if you don't make them different."
"I tried," Shane whispers. "I did try. You have no idea how paranoid I already was when you started talking to me… Why d'you think I was such a spaz half the time? You had to like me. You had to like me and be my friend and everything would be different. It'd be over. People would go 'Hey, she's Mason Steele's friend, leave her alone' and I could be happy… And have a friend."
Mason's expression turns sober, and a little sad at her statement, as if she injured him with her statement. "I just wanted to be a friend," he manages to squeak out. "And I wanted one too." He swallows hard. "I'm sorry if 'Mason Steele' wasn't enough for you." His name is said as if it belonged to another. He draws up his own knees, a similar position to Shane's.
"Yeah, I know," Shane murmurs. "Just… you don't get it. I tried to tell you before, but… Seriously. *Paranoid.* Like right now someone's probably watching this, having a laugh because I'm just this huge horrible bitch that deserves it. Or Robyn says he wants to be my friend, but really maybe he's just setting me up for some horrible Carrie thing. Or that kid from the park, maybe if I call him the number'll be unlisted. …These are things I actually think, Mason. Thought them back then, too. Mostly because if I thought them first, they wouldn't be a surprise."
Mason remains quiet for several seconds, resting his chin on his arms, which rest on top of his knees. "Well, I'm still here," he says softly, looking out inspecifically. "But since that won't get people to leave you alone, I guess you don't have much use for me."
"No," Shane says, sighing, "It just means I can't get you to wake up and realize how colossally stupid it is to try and be my friend. Last time it was bad for me. Next time… who knows."
Mason doesn't answer the comment. Instead, he just gets to his feet. "I guess I'm just stupid, too," he answers in a rather defeated and disconnected tone. "I'll take this stuff to the garbage for you." He stuffs the costume back into the sack. "Have a night, I guess." Since it's decided that it won't be a good one.
